Be Careful What You Wish For
by Alcina
Summary: How do apparently decent people change into Death Eaters? Set during the Dark Lord's first rise to power, the story examines what happens to an unfortunate young woman who finds the idea of evil too thrilling for her own good. PG13 for magical violence


November 5th, 1981

It's over.

There is nowhere left to run. I've been running now for three days, and I'm tired of it. The Aurors will find me sooner or later. All I have to look forward to is days and nights of flight, of exhaustion, always looking over my shoulder, knowing they'll get me in the end. Enough. Let it end here.

A crack and a bang splits the air; a shower of golden sparks lights the sky. Muggles, playing with their pitiful substitutes for magic. Only this year, I'll be willing to bet, a good few of those fireworks aren't sent up by Muggles. It's been impossible to avoid the scenes of jubilation anywhere in the wizarding world in the last five days; that just makes it harder. A week ago they feared us, fled from us. We're the outcasts now, the ones running, the ones who are afraid, while the rest of the wizarding world rejoices. There's no place for us now. We're finished.

The choices are stark. I could pretend I was acting under coercion, seek forgiveness from the Ministry- but no, it's too late for that, I would not have fled for days if that were true. I can let them take me alive, to drag me to trial, to be humiliated in front of the whole wizarding community, and spend the rest of my life in the living hell of Azkaban. Or I can go down fighting, screaming my defiance, screaming his name. Like all my other choices that matter, this one's been made for me already, without me realising it.

Well then, let them come for me. The waiting is the worst part; I will call the Aurors to me. I'll show these Muggles a firework display they haven't seen before. I draw my wand, slowly. An irrevocable step, to make myself known to the Aurors. Once it's done, my life will be measured in minutes. But, a small part of me says, the choice isn't really yours to make. This has been the inevitable ending from the moment the Dark Mark was burned into your flesh. You knew then that life expectancy was short in his service. So why are you afraid? It's not as if you have a choice. The Dark Lord took all your choices from you a long time ago.

Very well, let this be the last spell I ever cast. I point my wand to the sky and cry '_Morsmordre!_' My voice sounds steadier than I expect. It's done. In a strange way I almost feel relieved. My eyes drink in the blazing green stars above my head. I still find the Dark Mark so beautiful, so thrilling, even now. It will be the last thing I ever see. The part of me that was always fascinated by the Dark Lord is thrilled by that idea, but even after all this time a part of me screams against it.

How did it come to this?

....................................

No-one would have believed it of me five years ago. They would never have believed Clarissa Falcon capable of the horrors I've perpetrated. Neither would I. Never have believed myself capable of dedicating myself to something, someone so vile that my whole being should have rebelled against it. But in the beginning, I found the thought of him terrible, but so fascinating. That's what brought me here, to this icy, deserted street to die. The fact that a small part of me, a silly, schoolgirl part of me was drawn to the Dark Arts, drawn to the thrilling idea of someone so powerful and terrible. And that was what trapped me.

One way or another we were all trapped into his service: some by love of power, some by the hope of security in uncertain times, some by the need to be wanted, to belong to someone or to something bigger than ourselves, some by the hope of a better future for wizardkind, some by the longing for a father figure...or, like me, by the forbidden thrill of the Dark Arts and those who practiced them. It didn't matter what it was he pretended to offer us; by the time we saw the truth we were already in too far, bound to him an unbreakable bond, a bond of fear, rather than the things we'd thought we were being offered. And too, by the inescapable bond the Dark Arts always binds with, the rewards that numb your soul and destroy your conscience when it becomes too heavy a burden to bear.

And now it's finished. I'm finished. The Dark Mark is sent into the sky to celebrate the death of one of his victims. Tonight the Mark in the sky is blazing for me.

How on earth did it come to this?

A hot, still summer afternoon more than 5 years previously. I was lying on my back in the grass, plaiting flowers into a garland to wear in my hair. Perhaps I was a bit old for that; people were always telling me that Sixth Formers shouldn't behave so. Perhaps that's why I wasn't a Prefect. But all was well with the world in those days; Slytherin had beaten Ravenclaw to secure the Quidditch Cup, there was barely a week of school to go, and Sextus StJermaine had agreed to meet me in the rose garden the next evening. Life was good. Life was safe.

There were three of us lying there in the warm sun by the lake, glad that lessons were over for the day; my friend Lucinda was reading bits from the _Prophet_, mostly the incriminating bits, the bits about International Quidditch players accused of throwing games, and members of famous bands who might or might not be going out with them. But those were the days, too, when Voldemort was showing his true colours, moving openly against his opponents.

'Listen to this,' Lucinda said, turning another page of the _Prophet_. 'Two more Aurors found dead...more than 20 people who have taken a stand against He Who Must Not Be Named dead or vanished without trace in the last year...Ministry unable to say when it will be able to deal with the problem...' She looked up from the paper in awe. 'Wow, imagine having that much power. It must be so cool...'

And in a silly, little girl sort of way, we all agreed vociferously with her. It was exciting to think of someone so powerful. Exciting to pretend that one day we might have the same power. Even more exciting to imagine that one day we might have the thrill of meeting someone else who did. Besides which, when you're at school anyone who attacks the status quo seems pleasantly rebellious.

I picked up the paper and stared at the picture emblazoned across the front page. '_The enormous symbol seen in the sky over the site of Aurors' deaths'_ I read out, staring at the picture of the Dark Mark. 'Wow, look at that. Cool symbol. Hey, it's even got a snake for Slytherin! It says here the symbol witnesses saw in the sky was 50 feet across. I'd like to have seen that.'

'Me too. Let's keep the picture. I kind of like it.'

And we did keep the picture. And others like it, and newspaper cuttings. All through the summer holiday which followed, our owls flew to and fro, bearing letters about hair styles and boys at school...and the latest exciting reports about Voldemort, and how much the idea of him thrilled us. Schoolgirls get crushes easily.

In our final year at Hogwarts, it became the little secret fantasy of our gang, the thing we giggled about with our faces buried in the cushions of the Common Room sofa, and in the corridor between classes; we dreamt of the scary, rebellious, thrilling possibility of one day kneeling at his feet to worship him. And when I took my NEWTs, I had a picture of the Dark Mark in the pocket of my robes, as a talisman.

It's fun being seventeen, and your actions seldom have consequences.

....................................

I would probably have forgotten all about our silly little schoolgirl fascination within 6 months of leaving Hogwarts to start a boring, everyday job with good promotion prospects, pushing paper in the Personnel Department of the Ministry of Magic. I almost had forgotten about it, horrified now that the realities of what he was doing were becoming clearer in the outside world, until a little whisper came my way about three months after I started work.

The whisper said that someone in the Department was trying to collect information on the quiet on behalf of the Aurors, information whose sources they weren't going to enquire into too closely, information that might not be admissible before the Wizengamot, but that could be useful in the fight against Voldemort. And when one Algernon Rookwood, who it seemed was the agent collecting this information, turned up to ask about it, I remembered my silly little schoolgirl crush, and decided that there was no way I was going to pass on any information. It didn't matter anyway, as I had nothing to pass on. And of course, it was really exciting to keep deflecting Rookwood's enquiries in such a way that it was obvious I was stalling, because I was young and naïve enough to think it was always fun to risk appearing a bit rebellious.

How could I have guessed what consequences my silly little act of defiance would have?

....................................

Rookwood invited me to dine with him and a few friends about a month later. I felt vaguely excited, sure they were going to try to talk me into joining the fight against Voldemort, to try to persuade me to pass on information. I imagine that I thought it would be fun to refuse them.

So I talked, with formal dinner-party politeness, to Rookwood and his guests, a Mr. Malfoy and his wife, and one Waterton who worked with Rookwood. I kept dropping veiled little hints that there was _no way_ I was going to join any fight against Voldemort because I really _didn't want to_. Fun to play with fire, to nearly let a Ministry official and a prominent,respectable citizen like Malfoy guess that I was drawn to the Dark Arts, rather than the side of the boring status quo. Looking back, of course, I can see how they were manipulating the conversation to give me the chance to let these things slip.

And then after the meal, we started talking magical theory and magical law. The wine was flowing and the atmosphere congenial. Malfoy was soliciting my opinions on which branches of magic were too heavily penalized by law, on whether or not the freedom of wizards to use the powers that were their birthright were being unreasonably restrained, on whether or not this was a result of the influence of Muggle-borns who didn't understand wizard ways.... and little by little, without even noticing it, I was expressing views that veered closer and closer to those one really ought not to express in public.

'If I didn't know better,' drawled Malfoy at last, with a smile, 'I'd think that you'd rather be working for the Dark Lord than the Ministry.'

I must have had too much wine, because suddenly I stood up at the table and threw my head back. 'I'd love to serve him,' I cried out. 'The deepest wish of my heart is to kneel before him, and never mind what the consequences might be afterwards!' And my heart beat wildly, and a wave of joy burst through me. To declare this to someone, to people who I really shouldn't tell, shouldn't let know how fascinated I was by the Dark Lord, felt very daring, very exciting.

'I'd be careful what you wish for, if I were you,' drawled Lucius in the silence that followed my outburst.

And he exchanged amused, almost triumphant, looks with Rookwood.

....................................

A few days later I came home and found Rookwood and Malfoy waiting for me, robed in black. They told me, quite calmly, that the Dark Lord had granted the request I had so thoughtlessly gabbled out at dinner, and it was all I could do to keep from screaming. The thought of actually kneeling before him scared me a lot more than I had expected it to, not the sweet, thrilling fear of my dreams, but something much rawer, much more uncomfortable.

They told me that they would return for me in half an hour, if it was still my wish to go with them. It was only long afterwards that I realised what would have happened to me if I had told them that I hadn't meant it.

....................................

By the time they returned, I had worked myself into an almost intolerable state of tension and excitement. They were robed and hooded, only their eyes visible. That made it all a lot more serious somehow. It also made me realise something; the men to whom I had so stupidly blurted out my confession of undying devotion to Voldemort were Death Eaters. I realised suddenly that I'd have said rather less if I'd known.

They took me somewhere not all that far from London: a deserted building, a Muggle building by the look of it, fallen into disrepair. There were others there, robed, silent. And he was there, just as I'd dreamed it. But in my dreams I had never felt fear like this.

'I hear that you have expressed a wish to kneel before me,' he said, and the sound of his voice made my hair stand on end, it was so cold, so inhuman. So thrilling, so much more than human. 'I have decided to grant your wish. Kneel.'

I felt as if I were drowning in emotion as I knelt down. Certainly there was fear, so powerful that I felt I could hardly breathe. But there was also a sweet dark thrill at being in the presence of one so powerful, so dark. I could die now, I thought, and never regret it. There can be nothing more wonderful, more terrible than this.

My head was bowed; I dared not look on him. But I sensed him drawing close to me, could see the hem of his robes as he stood before me. I shut my eyes.

'Do you not wish to look on me?' I heard him ask.

'I daren't, My Lord.'

'I have heard,' he continued, sounding pleased rather than otherwise at this reaction, 'that you wish to serve me. Is this true?'

'Yes, My Lord.' No point pretending; he must know already, Rookwood and Malfoy would have told him.

'You will do so.' Something in his voice chilled me suddenly, and I felt rather less sure about my wish. 'I will send for you when I am ready.'

I realised that I was shivering, though the night was warm.

....................................

But the next day, I could hardly contain myself in my joy, despite the terror I had felt at the time. I had dreamed so long of what it would be like to be in his presence, to hear his voice, and the reality had been infinitely more powerful. And then there was the terrifying, thrilling thought that I would get to repeat the experience some time. I was almost able to forget the parts that hadn't been as I imagined them.

And there was even more to come. The next night, a polite note, delivered by a stately eagle owl, invited me to the Malfoy manor. And when I arrived, excited as a schoolgirl at the idea of keeping company with Death Eaters, Malfoy had greeted me like an old friend, and offered to show me things he kept hidden in his manor which the world at large would not have been impressed by.

Half a dozen times I went to meet him, half a dozen times he taught me things I could never have learned at Hogwarts, things so Dark that I doubt they'd have even wanted me to know they exist. And he taught me to perform the Imperius Curse. Very badly, as it happens, as to maintain your concentration while both you and your victim are interacting with others is harder than it sounds. But they didn't really mind that I wasn't doing it well; that wasn't their motive. And I was so thrilled they'd let me try that I didn't realise why they'd really done it: they'd talked me into performing an Unforgivable Curse in front of witnesses. It didn't feel as if I'd done something truly wrong, but nevertheless, as they were to point out to me much, much later, it was enough for me to spend the rest of my life in Azkaban if they ever chose to tell anyone.

But at the time it was very exciting. Of course, the first thing the Dark Lord does is to offer you exactly what you want, exactly what you've dreamed of, to trap you.

The payoff comes later.

And one night, when I was at the Malfoy Manor, practising Arts I shouldn't have been practicing, I found I was already in too far.

'The Dark Lord,' Malfoy told me, smiling, 'has decided that it's time for you to become one of us.'

'One of you?' I froze, hardly believing what I'd heard, hardly daring to believe it. It couldn't be that easy, could it?

'Tomorrow night. He will receive your oath of loyalty and burn the Dark Mark into your flesh. It's time I instructed you in what you need to say and do.'

I was so overwhelmed with excitement that I found it hard to listen. And even harder to stop to think what it really meant, or what the consequences were. I felt far too honoured for that, far too proud that he was pleased with my progress.

....................................

Now that it was time, I was afraid.

I had been so certain beforehand, so positive that I wanted to devote my service to that terrible, terrifying creature who so fascinated and horrified me. Now it was time to seal my irrevocable choice, it was all I could do not to run.

But I knew that in reality it was far too late for that. I had done too much, and seen too much to be allowed to go. Somewhere along the line, while I had still been caught up in the thrill of being allowed to find out what was hidden from the rest, and the thrill of associating with power, I had crossed the line of no return.

And now it was time.

'Kneel,' Voldemort said, and once more his cold voice filled me with terror. Why did I long to serve him, when I feared him more than anything in the world? I had never understood it, and in a few minutes the choice would be out of my hands. I began to shiver, struggled to control it.

There were others there that night, five other figures, robed and masked like myself, waiting to swear the same oath. In those days there were many who wanted a chance to share in Voldemort's power. I dared not look at them to see if they were visibly trembling as I was. Somewhere behind me too, I knew, were Rookwood, Malfoy, Waterton, others, those who had contacted us, recruited us...and trapped us, so that to all intents and purposes the choice was already made for us.

The man beside me on the right was reciting his oath, promising his loyalty. I didn't want to listen to the words I would have to say so soon. _Service until death._ I had to try and stop shaking, to control myself, before the Dark Lord turned his attention to me. Time was passing; soon I would have to face him. I heard the man cry out, a half suppressed scream of pain. I wanted desperately not to think, not to understand what was happening.

And then Voldemort was standing before me. I had been told what I must do; it was derived from an ancient ceremony which men, Wizard and Muggle, had taken to seal themselves in vassalage a millennium ago. I raised my hands to him, palms together, and felt his cold fingers rest lightly on the outside of mine. To look up at him seemed to be the hardest thing I had ever done. I knew that it was required of me, and knew why; I knew enough of the theory of Legilimency to know that with eye contact he would be able to sense my emotions, know if my oath was true, if my loyalty was real, or assumed for the sake of power or out of fear. I didn't understand the answer myself; how could I dare to let him look into my soul and see my motives?

And now I was reciting the same words the man beside me had spoken, swearing to obey his commands, pledging my loyalty, renouncing all other masters, all other ties, swearing that my service would end only in death. I did not understand how I was managing to get the words out, through my fear. Looking into those blank, red eyes, knowing there was no escape, how was I still speaking?

I had never been more grateful to break eye contact than when I finished, and he looked down. Relief filled me. A second later the fear rose up again, stronger than ever, as his cold fingers closed around my left wrist, pulling my arm towards him. His other hand pushed up the sleeve of my robe, gently, unhurriedly. Now I was shuddering visibly, any pretence at hiding my emotions gone. For a second the tip of a finger brushed my forearm as if he was examining the skin there. Involuntarily I made a tiny sound of terror. Distantly I was aware that he was doing this to increase my fear, to imprint the experience indelibly on my mind as well as my flesh. No, I wanted to scream, this is too real, too irrevocable. But the oath was already sworn, there was no escape. With terrifying slowness he drew his wand from inside his robes, pointed it at my arm. I closed my eyes a second before the wand touched my skin; I didn't want to see. '_Ferro morsmordre,'_ his voice whispered.

They had told me that the pain would remind me of the depth of loyalty required, of the fact that he could now demand any price of me and be obeyed. But when I had imagined this moment I had never realised just how bad it would be, a swelling wave of pain that seemed to be burning not just my skin but the muscle and bone of my arm. Nor had I realised how long the spell took to complete; in my imagination it had lasted only a second or two. I struggled not to show weakness by crying out, but sounds were coming from my lips. Involuntarily, my head fell back, and for an instant I glimpsed his terrible face, smiling, twisted with cold satisfaction.

Then the pain receded, and I fell forwards. He released me, and I found myself on my hands and knees before him. I was crying. This is one's first act as a Death Eater, I realised; to weep at his feet. I knew that he had planned it that way.

He had moved on to the man to the left of me now. I struggled back to my knees, glad of the hood that covered my face. I didn't dare look at my arm, as if not seeing what was burned there would make it untrue. But it throbbed horribly, a reminder I couldn't put out of my mind. I still couldn't stop the tears from falling.

The man on my left was clearly even more terrified than I. He was sobbing as he spoke his oath, kept pausing as if he were unwilling to complete it. And as Voldemort drew his wand, his nerve broke and he screamed 'No!' and pulled his arm away.

'No?' Voldemort asked quietly, slowly. 'You regret the oath you have spoken? You wish to renounce it already?'

'I can't do it!' the man beside me wept. 'Please......'

'Then you are asking to be released from my service?' Voldemort asked, his voice silky, his pitiless red eyes fixed on the man before him. I understood the Dark Lord's meaning at once, and shivered, realising that the man in front of him did not.

The man looked up, hope suddenly visible in every line of his body. 'Yes, My Lord, I'm sorry.'

Voldemort smiled. I closed my eyes, telling myself it was to guard against being dazzled by the flash of green light so close to me, knew in my heart that that wasn't the reason. But I could not block out the sound of his voice crying '_Avada Kedavra!'_ or not feel the force of the spell as it rushed past me, brushing my robes.

The man's body fell beside me. I dared not move away. You're becoming stronger already, I told myself. You didn't flinch. It didn't matter to you. But as Voldemort moved away to the next person, I glanced down at the corpse. The look in his eyes told me he had realised what was going to happen just before the end. I felt as though I would never stop shaking.

I lowered my head and tried to focus on the throbbing pain in my arm, clinging to it in the hope it would blot out where I was and what was beside me. But the pain only reminded me of the same thing: that I was bound to him forever, and that my future now was what he willed it, that my own life counted for nothing.

....................................

It was later the same night. I was alone in the darkness of my room. It was late, but sleep was impossible. The memories of the night were too powerful to allow me rest, or peace. I was not sure I would ever feel either again.

My arm still burned; I didn't know if there was actual damage, or if the pain was simply the after effects of the spell. Looking at the Dark Mark burnt into my arm would make it real. I couldn't face it, not yet. And so the hours ticked by in silence as I sat on my bed, my mind racing round and round over the same memories. From all of them, one thought stood out clearly: there was no way out of this now. I spent the night trying to decide if I liked that idea or not.

When I finally dared to look at the Mark, some time near dawn, I decided that it didn't really matter if I liked it or not. Once the Mark is on your flesh, your likes and wishes doesn't matter at all. And I started crying again.

....................................

I had been ordered into his presence again. Once more I was trembling, once more the forbidden thrill and the fear blended into something intoxicating, delicious. I felt I could give my life lying at his feet, without an instant's regret, in spite of what I had seen him do.

But what he asked of me was much harder than that.

'A few examples,' he said, his eyes boring into me.' A few prominent people, whose whereabouts isn't common knowledge, who think themselves safe in consequence. You have access to the Ministry's Personnel records, I believe. You can pass information to Rookwood or to Waterton at work without arousing any suspicion. I want the names of some suitable victims. Prominent enough for their names to be known and their death to be noticed, either Muggle-born or vocal against me. I want to know where they live, the time they return home, a time and a place where my faithful followers can reach them...and their families.' He smiled, as if in anticipation.

This was not what I had imagined. I knew instantly that I couldn't do anything like that. It was exciting to play with fire, exciting to worship him, to kneel at his feet, but I couldn't be a party to this. If I gave him the information, innocent people would die. I couldn't allow myself to do it, in spite of the terror I felt at the thought of refusing him.

'I can't,' I told him, looking down at the ground as I spoke. 'I can't be responsible for what you're going to do to them.' It felt, if I admitted it, rather thrilling to take the risk of defying him to his face.

A few of the Death Eaters behind me laughed, a nasty sound as if they were watching something entertaining.

'You are mistaken,' Voldemort told me, quietly. 'You will find that you can.' And he raised his wand.

I had heard of the Cruciatus curse, of course, had read about it, studied it. But nothing prepares you for the reality. I hadn't known that my body was capable of feeling such intense sensation; it wasn't possible. I no longer knew where I was, or what was happening to me, my mind was dissolving in white-hot pain....

I was lying at his feet, my whole body shaking with convulsive sobs. Behind me I could hear laughter; the Dark Lord was gazing down at me, waiting.

'No,' I whispered at last, 'please.' I wasn't sure myself if I was referring to the mission he had set me, or what he had just done to me.

'No?' Voldemort asked.' That wasn't enough to convince you? Very well...._Crucio._'

And as the world came slowly back into focus for the second time a minute later, I realised there was no other way out of this, except to agree to his demands, cause the death of innocent people. I knew that I couldn't face another dose of pain like that, not if there was any alternative. It wasn't as if I had a choice. It was pointless to ask for pity; he knew none. I can't, I told my conscience as it protested, I can't let him do that to me again, I can't stand it.

Voldemort was waiting for me to reach my decision. I nodded my head.

'Yes,' I whispered at last. 'I'll do what you ask.' I tried not to hear the renewed laughter from the other Death Eaters behind me. And I knew that he had looked into my mind and seen that I would agree in the end, that I was too weak to resist him.

'This,' he told me as I stumbled away, 'Is what it means to serve me.' Suddenly the idea wasn't fun any more.

....................................

It was late, more than four hours after I should have gone home. I was alone in the Personnel Department, files spread around me on the long wooden table. I was staring at them blankly, my thoughts seeming incapable of movement. I had agreed to choose certain of the people represented here, to pass their names to the Dark Lord, to seal their fate. I had spent hours selecting potential candidates, trying to put off the moment when I would have to start genuine research into one name, to choose one family for death.

My mind seemed frozen. On the one hand, I knew what the consequences of my following Voldemort's orders would be...but I knew what the consequences of not following them would be, too. I shuddered, trying to push the memory of that overwhelming agony from my mind. Time was passing, and I still hadn't made a start.

A voice cut suddenly into my troubled thoughts. 'Madam Falcon?'

I glanced up, and saw two men had entered the office without my even noticing them. I recognised them as Unspeakables; I'd seen them talking to Rookwood.

'I'm sorry to disturb you,' the man who had spoken continued, 'But I didn't expect to find anyone here. It's nearly ten o'clock. Algernon asked me to run up and get the Departmental List and holiday schedule; he wants to assign certain work for the next month and he's lost his copy.'

I nodded, preoccupied. 'It's over there in the top drawer of the black cabinet.' I was still staring at the files spread out around me, trying to think, trying not to think.

'What are you doing still here?' the second man asked conversationally, looking over the files on the table. 'Is there a lot of work on at the moment?'

Terror suddenly shot through me. I hadn't any good reason to be here, late at night, with these files. If anyone found out what I'd been doing, if they put two and two together....

'I... I'm looking at these files,' I stammered lamely, 'to see if...' I knew I was making myself sound suspicious as I struggled to think of a reason' ...to see if the address list we use to contact Ministry members is up to date...'

He looked puzzled, but seemed inclined to accept that it wasn't any of his business.

'By the way,' he added, 'Algernon asked us to leave a note on your desk to get you to pop into his office tomorrow first thing; said it was urgent. Since you're still here, it might be worth popping down now.'

The last thing I wanted to do was face Rookwood, or any other Death Eater, while my conscience was trying to wriggle out of my promise. I told myself that not to do so would look suspicious in front of these men, however, trying to avoid the thought that it was terror of anyone connected with Voldemort that was my motive.

I nodded and headed for the lift.

....................................

Rookwood was waiting for me. Waterton, who I knew worked in the same Department, was with him. It was obvious that they had expected me.

'Have you selected any victims... that is...any suitable names yet?' Rookwood asked me as soon as the door was closed behind me.

I shook my head mutely, stared at the floor.

'Our master forms the impression that your conscience is troubling you again,' he continued, quietly. I kept staring at the floor, trying to hide the wave of terror that was rapidly rising in me. How could he have known?

Waterton laughed.

'He always knows, always understands you, you must realise that. You can't hide anything from him. He asked us to... try to encourage you to more diligence. To remind you of the consequences of failure.'

He smiled at the involuntary shudder that ran through me. ' Do I take it that you feel more diligent already?' he asked, almost smirking now.

I couldn't say a word, unable to articulate the feelings that were struggling inside me.

'Listen,' he told me, 'It's not as if you have any choice. If you don't do this, the Dark Lord will find another way. Another spy, or someone else in your Department, controlled by the Imperius curse. It's not as if your actions will save those people. Your weakness will just postpone their fate by a few days or weeks...'

I shook my head again. Didn't he understand? I couldn't be party to this. At my continuing silence Waterton tried again.

'It's not as if it's your decision, you know. You're only doing the Dark Lord's will. The responsibility is his, not yours. And there can be compensations. Has it occurred to you that you could choose to provide the details of someone who has done you a disservice in the past, someone who has made your life difficult? As long as they fit the criteria you've been given...'

Now I was genuinely angry. 'Don't you understand yet? I'm not like you! I don't enjoy harming others, I don't enjoy killing!'

'That's not true and you know it,' he replied. 'You wouldn't be drawn to the Dark Lord as you are if you didn't enjoy the idea somewhere deep inside. Besides, you're a Death Eater now. You should be beyond such ideas. But you're still weak, still troubled with a conscience. Don't worry. The Dark Lord will burn that out of you soon enough.'

'No! I'll never be like that!' I cried, and in my mind I thought wildly, don't listen to his words, don't let him wake that dark, scary part of yourself that you know you should never give in to. 'And I can't send innocent people to their deaths. I'm not going to do it. I'd rather die myself.'

'Oh no. You won't die,' smiled Waterton, sounding more amused than ever now, 'You can't escape from the Dark Lord so easily.'

'What do you mean?'

'Rookwood sent a couple of people up to your office tonight on a pretext. Made sure they noticed what you were doing, noticed you were where you shouldn't have been, reading papers you shouldn't have been. All it will take is an owl bringing an anonymous denunciation, and the Ministry will ask anyone with any evidence to come forward. And two highly respectable officials will come forward and confirm the allegation. You'll be in Azkaban by this time tomorrow.'

'No...you can't...I haven't done anything wrong...' Except hang around with Death Eaters, perform an Unforgivable Curse, kneel before Voldemort and like it, swear allegiance to him, promise to act as a spy, look through classified papers...The thought suddenly struck me clearly for the first time: I was in quite far enough to spend the rest of my life in Azkaban. The thought terrified me even more than the thought of the Dark Lord's anger. I realised that once more the Dark Lord had known which threats to use against me, and instructed Waterton well.

'Done nothing wrong? The Mark on your arm will suggest otherwise to the Aurors,' Waterton pointed out.

There's no way out of this, I thought, fighting the blind panic I felt. But I couldn't allow innocents to die. Time to pay for my mistakes. Resolution filled me. I wasn't going to be dragged in any deeper, wasn't going to let myself be terrorised into doing what I knew was wrong.

'Very well,' I said, looking up, 'If that's the alternative, then fine. I'll save you the trouble. I'll go to the Aurors now, myself, tell them everything I know. And I'll accept the consequences!'

'Really?' smiled Waterton.' Is that what you want? I would have thought you had better reasons than most to fear Azkaban. Do you really want to spend the next years reliving what the Dark Lord did to you last night, what you've been feeling today, the guilt, the fear, and of course the looks of contempt on everyone's faces when you're denounced in court? You would have a harder time in Azkaban than most...'

'If that's true then it's my own fault. At least in Azkaban I won't be hurting anyone else.' And before I could think, before I could imagine the consequences too much I turned, reached for the door. I'll go now, I thought, before my resolve fails; there's always someone in Auror Headquarters.

'You won't be able to protect your family from Azkaban,' came Waterton's voice, and I froze, hand on the doorknob.

'My family?'

'Both your parents are alive I believe? A grandmother, a younger brother, in the second year at Hogwarts?'

'How did you...?' but I realised as I spoke that I'd been a fool not to realise that they would have found out everything about me, seeking weapons they could use if they wanted to manipulate me. I bowed my head in defeat.

'They'll all be killed if I don't obey him, won't they?' I whispered, letting my hair fall over my face to hide my despair.

'Eventually. When those he sends for them get bored.' He shook his head as he heard me begin to cry quietly.

'Haven't you realised yet, you little fool,' he asked, 'there's no way to escape him. It's too late for that. It was too late the minute you knelt before him and swore to serve him. Now go and get that information. I need it by tomorrow evening.'

The tears of hopelessness continued to fall as I stumbled back to my office. Either my family or others would die a terrible death before the week was out. And the responsibility was mine alone. It seemed like a million years since I had giggled with my friends in the Slytherin common room, and dreamed silly schoolgirl dreams of serving him.

....................................

All day long I had avoided taking Waterton the paper with my findings. Choosing the Dark Lord's victims had been easy intellectually, a matter of selecting people whose records showed they were Muggle born, or whose files had press clippings appended which showed them making a stand against him, then cross referencing to find the address where they had told the Ministry they could be contacted after hours, checking that they shared that address with a family (don't think about it, I told myself) and that they didn't share the address with anyone inappropriate, finding when they returned home. Emotionally, it had been much harder.

All day, I had been aware of the weight of the paper with the details in the pocket of my robes, and the much heavier weight in my mind. Everything seemed strangely surreal; perhaps that was because I'd been barely able to sleep the night before, perhaps not. The Ministry was almost deserted now. I could not stall any longer.

With every step towards the lifts, the guilt seemed to deepen. I stood for a long time in the lift, staring at the button labelled '2', the floor where Auror Headquarters lay. But I knew already that I wouldn't press it. Might as well get it over with. I stabbed my finger at the number '9' and felt the lift descend.

'Here's that memo you wanted, Waterton.' I was surprised at how calm my voice felt, how unconcerned I managed to act when others might hear me.

'Ah, thank you, Madam Falcon. Step into my office a moment while I read it, will you.' So normal, so conversational.

He closed the office door behind us so that no-one would overhear, then scanned the names. 'Stebbings,' he commented with a smile,. 'Good choice. The man is an overbearing fool as well as a Mudblood.' He looked up at me.' Tell me, did it make you feel powerful, having the choice of life and death over these people?'

'I'm not that kind of person,' I told him flatly, 'I know I can't break free of the Dark Lord, but what I am inside won't ever change. I'll never be what he wants me to be.'

'You will be. The process has already begun.' He held up the paper I had just given him for me to see. 'You have just condemned seven innocent children to death, Clarissa. You know quite well in your heart: there's no going back after that.'

I realised that I wouldn't be sleeping that night either.

....................................

The next couple of weeks passed in a troubled haze. When I opened the _Daily Prophet_ and saw the news that Michael Stebbings and his family had been found murdered, I had spent an hour shaking, wondering how I would ever cope with the unbearable feeling of guilt. But it's hard to keep the guilt going; your conscience relaxes as time goes on, and you push the thought from your mind. By the fourth death, I was almost able to make myself ignore what I had done, to convince myself it was inevitable.

Until Voldemort sent for me again.

....................................

I was kneeling before him once more, trembling.

'You have done well. I am pleased by your service,' he told me, gazing down at me.

I said nothing, head bowed, trying to hide the horror I felt inside. Don't think about it, I told myself.

'This doesn't please you?' he asked softly. 'I thought that to receive praise from me for your service was your greatest wish. You have my praise and gratitude. I would never have been able to accomplish these...demonstrations... so effectively without your cooperation.'

I struggled to control myself, but a small sob escaped me.

'Can it be that you regret what you have done?' he continued. 'You once seemed very certain that you would do whatever I wished.'

'No, I don't want to serve you,' I wept, looking up at him, beyond fear now in my misery. 'I never really wanted to, I was wrong.'

'You never wanted it?' he asked, his eyes falling on me, 'You never wanted to serve me?' He seemed amused. '_Legilimens!' _And the memories came pouring through my mind.

And I was hiding my face in a sofa in the Slytherin Common Room, to escape the taunts of Lucinda and Clara; 'It's true,' I was giggling, 'I'd do anything he wanted me to, anything at all!' ...I was lying the dark, trembling with excitement and fear as I ran my mind over the reports in the _Prophet_ of what had happened to some of his victims, a dark, sweet, forbidden pleasure running through me, dreaming of his power and his terror...I was poring over a book from the Restricted Section of the Library, not reading the pages I'd been assigned, but others, imagining myself using those forbidden spells in his service...I was standing in the dining room at the Malfoy manor, flushed with drink, proclaiming myself faithful to him unto death...I was kneeling at Voldemort's feet, more thrilled than I'd ever been, loving just being there, just worshipping him...

'Those are your memories,' his voice told me, as the world came back into focus. 'You wished to serve me, longed for it. The time will come when you enjoy it as much as you dreamed you would. When you ask to be allowed to kill. You are naïve, and still weak, still thinking in terms of right and wrong. That will pass. You will enjoy the pain and death you cause.'

I shook my head. He was laughing.

'I can't...' I whispered. 'I don't want to serve you any more...please...' I knew quite well what I was asking of him, and so did he. But I was a fool to think he would let me go so easily, when I had proved myself so useful. And so weak.

Instead he stepped close to where I knelt. I felt him brush the hair from my neck, and felt his fingers trace my face, gently.

'You don't want to serve me?' he asked, pushing my robe from one shoulder and running his finger lightly over my shoulderblade.

So he had known about those silly schoolgirl thoughts too. In spite of myself, I felt myself giving in to the incredible longing he inspired in me. He watched my reaction carefully, until he was sure I had stopped fighting the feelings he was generating. Then, after a moment, he walked away from me. But I didn't ask to be allowed to die again.

'I think your education should proceed. It is time for you to face the consequences of the work you are doing,.' he told me. 'I believe there is still one victim on your list who has not been dealt with? Ah, yes, Isaac Miller. A blood traitor, married to a Muggle, defiling the world with Half-blood children, and campaigning for more laws to protect Muggles.'

With a gesture he summoned two Death Eaters to stand before him. 'McNair, Waterton. You will dispose of this man and his family tomorrow night. Miller returns home from work at about six. Here is the address. You will be waiting for him.'

'Of course, My Lord,' replied the taller of the two men, the one who I recognised as Waterton.

Voldemort turned to regard me again. 'You will accompany them,' he told me.

....................................

I was sick with foreboding when McNair and Waterton arrived. The thought of watching another human being suffer and die repelled me so powerfully that I was afraid I would be physically ill. But more than anything I was filled with loathing for myself, for the weakness that led to my agreeing to do this, rather than defying him and taking the consequences. But the fear of the Dark Lord was too strong. And there was another reason too, one I was trying not to admit even to myself.

The man named Waterton greeted me. He seemed, if anything, rather amused by the night's errand.

'I hear that you are not looking forward to tonight?' he asked me. 'You should do. There's nothing quite like hearing someone beg you for mercy, you know. You should try it. Feel free to join in tonight; you might like it.'

'Stop it!' I yelled, all the pent up disgust I felt at myself suddenly bursting out in hatred of him. 'I don't want any part of this! You make me feel sick!'

'You don't want any part of it?' Waterton asked. 'In that case why don't you go and tell the Dark Lord that you won't be coming?'

I was silent.

'You don't understand anything at all, and you know nothing about yourself,' Waterton told me. 'The Dark Lord knows you, understands you. You will carry on doing as he asks because you are too weak and afraid to refuse him. And he will carry on piling the guilt on you until you can't stand any more and bury your conscience so deep you will hardly remember what it is. And you will comfort yourself instead by taking dark joy in what you do in his name. The Dark Lord doesn't give you a choice in this. He will make you what he wants you to be.'

I was crying as we headed for our target.

....................................

It was very late. The worst of it was over, I thought. It had been much harder for me to watch when Miller's sons were still alive. Now they were dead, and his wife too, beyond Waterton's reach, their ordeal over. Waterton's obvious enjoyment was almost as hard to bear as the pleading looks in his victims' eyes. I tried to shut out what I was seeing but found I could not, not when I knew that I was as guilty as Waterton and McNair in this, not when his children had looked at me with mute appeal in their eyes, begging me to save them.

Now there was only Miller himself left, and he was weak, exhausted. It would be over soon.

Waterton raised his wand, and the man's screams stopped.

'Have you wondered, ' he asked conversationally, as he waited for his victim to recover sufficiently for him to continue, 'why you have been singled out for the honour of providing a lesson to the Dark Lord's enemies? It was this woman here who selected you for death.' He glanced towards me. 'Perhaps you should ask her?'

The man before me raised his head slightly from the floor and stared at me. 'Why?' he asked simply. 'Why me? Why my children?'

I looked at the ground, unable to think of a reply.

'What have we done to you that you visit this upon us?' Miller persisted.

Waterton laughed. 'Perhaps she did it because she thought it would be fun?' he suggested.

'No!' I cried, anger welling up in me. 'I did it because I was forced to; I never wanted any of this to happen.' I turned to Miller. 'You must believe me..'

'So you would plead for his life?' Waterton persisted.

'Yes, I would if I thought it would do any good!' I yelled. 'But it won't; you're going to go ahead and enjoy yourself anyway!'

'Why, yes, I shall,' Waterton agreed. 'But if you would like to volunteer to take this man's place...I don't really mind who is entertaining me.'

Guilt tore into me; I knew quite well that I should take the opportunity to save him. But terror rose up, stronger than the guilt, and I said nothing.

'Well?' Waterton asked. Miller's eyes stared at me, the expression of pleading in them overwhelming.

'I can't,' I whispered, shaking my head. 'I'm sorry, I can't do it.'

'Bad luck, Miller,' laughed Waterton and he lowered his wand towards Miller again.

I pressed myself to the wall, hands over my ears, eyes closed, trying not to hear or see what was happening. But Waterton wasn't about to let it go at that.

'Why don't you ask her nicely if she'll change her mind?' he asked a couple of minutes later, as Miller lay recovering once more.

He did. And in spite of myself, even as I turned my face to the wall and tried not to listen, I realised it was true what Waterton had said. There was something incredibly thrilling about having someone begging at my feet, however much I tried to block it out. That was the part that made me feel guiltiest.

....................................

After that I was sent often to watch the consequences of my continuing service to the Dark Lord as a spy. Somehow, hating myself, I managed to endure it, in spite of frequent taunting from Waterton, who seemed to find my struggles with my conscience a great amusement. To my intense relief, I was never questioned about my failure to participate. After a few weeks, I began to hope that the Dark Lord had forgotten about his intention to make me like them, and would be content to let me go on following others, hiding from myself. I don't know how, given what I had already learned of him, I was foolish enough to cling to that hope.

But of course, as Lucius taught me during those first, heady days, you can't perform the Unforgivable Curses unless you mean them, unless there's no part of you holding back. If you have any doubts, any regrets, any uncertainties they simply don't work. What's needed, of course, is to wait until a situation arises in which you want to do them. And the Dark Lord was patient. Eventually the situation came: Waterton fell from the Dark Lord's favour. Waterton, who had taunted me for so many months, and forced me to witness so much horror, who had made me hate myself with a slow, sick hatred. In fact, Waterton messed up so badly that he was of no further use to Voldemort at all. Except to further my education.

And so, one night I felt my Mark burn. We were summoned, all of us. We stood in ranks in a circle around our Lord. There was someone on the ground before him, his hood thrown back, his face white with fear and pain. Waterton.

'This man,' Voldemort told us, 'has failed me. His carelessness has cost me the service of three Death Eaters, two of them taken alive by Aurors. The information the Aurors will obtain when they interrogate them will do me untold harm; weeks of careful planning have been wasted. And his own involvement is known. He is of no more use as a spy. This has happened because Waterton was more concerned with amusing himself than with following my instructions. And now you will see what happens to those who put their own amusements before my orders.'

'Master, no!' shrieked Waterton, groveling towards him on the ground. 'Have mercy, please!' And hearing him beg, this man who had taunted me and bullied me and given me such a burden of guilt to bear, I felt white hot hate and white hot joy. I had never realised how sweet they could be when you had a reason to give in to them.

And I watched as Voldemort tortured him. This time, I didn't flinch or turn away as I watched another suffer. Rather I drank in every sound, every movement, to feed the flames of my emotions. This man had been responsible for much of the guilt and self-loathing that had wracked me these past months; to watch him suffer was welcome revenge

And then the Dark Lord's eyes fell on me. Of course, he knew what I was feeling. 'Clarissa?' he asked, and I knew at once what he was offering. I wasn't even aware of drawing my wand; it was in my hand already.

'Yes,' I told him.

You have to have no uncertainties, Lucius had told me. You have to want it, to enjoy it. And I did.

'_Crucio!_' I heard myself cry. I don't even remember making the decision to do it; the hate I felt was so overwhelming that it seemed to be doing all my thinking for me. Months of pent up emotions tore through me, unleashed, all the self hatred I'd been feeling transmogrified into hatred for this man.

I must have held the curse for several minutes, because the next thing I became aware of was someone gripping my arm, pushing my wand away from him. 'You're overdoing it.' warned the voice of a Death Eater.' That's too much in one go. You'll kill him if you go on like that. Let him rest for a minute.'

I tried to turn my wand back towards him, but the hand gripping my wrist turned it way again. I was shaking from head to foot with the longing to use the curse again, incoherent now with the force of my emotions. I watched him trembling on the floor, moving feebly, helplessly. For an instant I was aware of Voldemort's eyes on me, looking into mine keenly, watching my feelings. I didn't really care at that moment. Nothing mattered except my hate.

'Let him recover a bit more,' a woman's voice warned me again. 'It's more fun anyway if you give him time to beg. Trust me.' And then she released my arm, and gave me a little push forwards so I was standing over him now, in the centre of the watching circle. 'And people say _I'm_ overenthusiastic,' smirked the woman who had just spoken; someone sniggered. It barely registered, I had no room in my mind for anything but the man lying shaking on the floor. He looked up at me, terrified.

'You told me once,' I reminded him 'that there was no pleasure quite like hearing someone beg for mercy. Perhaps you'd care to demonstrate?' And I pointed my wand at him, waiting. Behind me, satisfyingly, I heard several people laugh, enjoying what they were watching.

And he had been right. There was nothing like it that I'd ever felt. Hearing the pleas spilling from his lips was the most wonderful revenge I could imagine, but more than that, it was the most wonderful fulfillment, too. And that evening, I wasn't feeling disposed to mercy. I have no idea how long I vented my fury on him for, only that the more he screamed under my Curse, the more I wanted to hurt him, and the more dark joy I took from what I was doing.

'Enough, I think.' Voldemort's words cut through my ecstasy and fury, and I bowed my head at once in obedience. He moved smoothly towards me, to stand looking at the man before me. 'You are of no further use as a spy, no further use to me at all. You will be killed.'

He raised his wand.

I spoke before I was even aware of doing it. 'Let me do it, My Lord. Please. I can, I know I can!'

He smiled, nodded his head almost imperceptibly, and stood, watching me keenly. No doubts, I thought, nor regrets. Not after what you've done to me. The terror in his eyes as I turned my wand on him thrilled me to the core.

'_Avada Kedavra!_'; my voice rang out so loud that I startled myself.

I had never known a feeling of such power. For an instant some great force was rushing through me, then out into the night, towards Waterton. I felt as if I were flying; I had never known such joy. I stood gasping, disorientated, blinded by the sudden flash of light. I felt more alive than I had ever felt. For a few seconds I basked in the heady exhilaration of what I'd just done.

'I told you,' Voldemort's voice told me, then, from somewhere beside me,' That the time would come when you would enjoy causing pain and death, and begged to be allowed to kill.'

The exhilaration drained out of me suddenly, and I stood shaking.

Voldemort laughed at my sudden change of demeanour. So did a number of the Death Eaters grouped around us. I shook my head, suddenly feeling guilt and shame. But they couldn't fully wipe out the memory of what I had just experienced. And they were weakening quickly as he continued to speak.

'Don't tell me that you didn't enjoy that,' he told me softly. 'I could taste your joy. You had never felt pleasure that intense before in your life.' I continued to stare at the floor, trying to forget the feeling.' And you will never be able to pretend you didn't just feel that. Not even to yourself.'

He had made me watch knowing how I'd react, I realised. I'd responded exactly as he hoped I would, and had become what he wanted me to be. And inside me, I felt the last of my humanity flicker and die.

....................................

That is how it happens. You give in just once to the dark part of your own mind. After that, it's comparatively easy to give in to the urge inside you that wants to kill and destroy. Once you've learned what it feels like, it's very hard to deny yourself that joy again, and very easy to push your conscience aside. In the next three years I must have tortured or killed a dozen or more times; it no longer mattered to me. It's true what they say; when you give in to the Dark Arts, something inside you dies, and you don't care about anyone any more. And you try to overcome the loss of part of yourself by destroying others.

For three terrifying, wonderful years I served him, just as I dreamed of doing as a girl. I served him in fear and in joy; there was no reality beyond his wishes. I thought it would never end, or that if it did, it would end with me kneeling at his feet, having failed him at last. I still found that idea thrilling.

But then, one cold Autumn night, it was suddenly over. And it wasn't going to end with him after all.

....................................

And so to the present.

He's gone. But I'll never be free of him.

The Aurors are here; I can see them at the end of the street.

So. I'll fix my eyes on the Mark in the sky, and remember how much the sight of it used to thrill me. I'll gaze on those green stars till a brighter flash of green light blots them out forever.


End file.
